10 Honest Thoughts On Being Loved By A Skinny Boy
by The Last Letter
Summary: I say, "I am fat." He says "No, you are beautiful." I wonder why I cannot be both.


_1._

_I say, 'I am fat.'_

_He says 'No, you are beautiful.'_

_I wonder why I cannot be both._

_He kisses me _

_hard._

Fat.

It's the word that haunts Rae everywhere she goes. It's something that weighs on her shoulders; weighs on her middle; weighs on her thighs. It's a word that _weighs_, period. It's not an affliction she can hide; it's not like her criss-crossing scars or her madness. She wears this word 'fat' everywhere she goes. She wears it and the world can see it. Even if she were to lock herself away, she would still be confronted with it: _fat, fat, fat, fat._

She would lie in her own bed, and be aware of just how much skin she had. She could feel the weight of her fat pressing into her mattress, pressing into her bones. Her fat overspills her body, and she presses her hands into her stomach, feeling the skin poke between her fingers. She wonders what would happen if there ever came a day where she pressed her hands into her stomach and was not met with malleable flesh but, rather, the toned body she had always dreamed of having. She thinks of the joy that would fill her, if she ever woke up skinny. She thinks of how happy it would make her to have the world look at her, and not because she's _fat_ but because she's _beautiful._

All she's ever wanted is to be beautiful.

She lies with Finn now. Her flesh still overspills its boundaries and she waits for the day he touches her and becomes disgusted with the roll of her skin, of her fat. He hasn't, yet, but she waits for it to happen.

He kisses her shoulder and smiles at her.

"What're you lookin' at?" She challenges him.

"Someone extraordinary," he praises, and then his nose wrinkles. "You know, for a dickhead."

"You're a dickhead," she retorts immediately, shoving his bare shoulder. His skin is so deliciously warm; she just wants to run her tongue all over him, like he's some Finn-flavoured lolly, made just for her.

"And you're still extraordinary."

"I'm fat," she blurts, without thinking about it. She hates talking about it; doesn't want to bring his attention to it.

"No," Finn corrects, "you're beautiful."

He leans up, takes her lips in his, and Rae begins to lose herself in his kiss. But as he deepens the kiss, pulls her body flush against his, an errant thought makes its way through her brain. Mightn't it be possible to be fat _and _beautiful?

No, he must love her in spite of her size.

_2._

_My college theater professor once told me_

_that despite my talent,_

_I would never be cast as a romantic lead._

_We do plays that involve singing animals_

_and children with the ability to fly,_

_but apparently no one_

_has enough willing suspension of disbelief_

_to go with anyone loving a fat girl._

_I daydream regularly_

_about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn._

Rae's not going to lie, the reason she chose to do the play over a less noticeable extracurricular is because this year's play was set in ancient Rome. It reminds her of one of the hottest fantasies she's ever had about Finn (not that real-life Finn isn't hot, but until real-life Finn appears in front of her in a gladiator costume, her imagination has a leg-up) and that alone made the play tempting.

She's now sitting in the seats of the auditorium, watching auditions. She's not auditioning, of course. She's thinking she'll do costumes or sets, something that keeps her around this addictive theatre atmosphere but out of the limelight. She knows she won't do well on stage because stage fright is a very real beast inside of her.

She kicks the underside of her chair, watching as another girl climbs up on stage, stating to their director (the theatre professor – Mr. Gunther) what lines she would be reading and what song she would be singing. Rae thinks she's the last to go, which she can't say she's not happy about. It's not really required for her to be at the auditions, considering she's not auditioning herself, but she wanted to be here. She's already read the script and she wanted to judge for herself who she thought would fit where and she wanted to see who she could potentially be working with. Not that she knows any of them; Rae doesn't orbit in the social group of theatre kids. She hopes they're lovely people.

The girl – Sarah, Rae thinks – finishes her song and bows to Mr. Gunther. She has a scratchy voice, but a great stage presence. Rae already likes her from afar. As she finishes, Mr. Gunther makes a call, inviting anyone who's been missed to the stage. No one comes forward, and he packs his things. Rae stays seated, even as the auditorium begins to empty. Finn is supposed to be here in ten minutes to meet her, and she's comfortable in this seat. She doesn't mind sitting and waiting.

She watches Mr. Gunther make his way up the steps. He's the step above her row when he pauses, turning to face her.

"You," he says slowly, grabbing her attention.

"Me?" Rae asks, gesturing to herself.

"Are you part of the play?"

"Yes …"

"But, I didn't see you audition today."

"No," Rae answers. "I'm hoping to do sets or costumes."

"Oh, thank God!" The man laughs broadly and Rae frowns. "I was worried you thought you were going to be an actress or something silly."

"Something silly?" Rae finds herself repeating, unsure of where this conversation is going but knowing she's far too uncomfortable with it.

"Bigger girls …" Mr. Gunther begins, "There's no place for you in the theatre. Our costumes, they don't fit you. And our roles certainly don't."

"I … Excuse me?" Rae stutters out, because she really doesn't know what else to say. He really can't have just said _that_ could he? He's a bloody teacher.

"In romance, the girls have to be certain girls. You aren't one of those girls."

"One of what girls?" Rae challenges, anger manically rising within her.

"You know, the type of girls that boys actually want." With that, Gunther resumes his trudge up the stairs.

Rae remains speechless in her fury, long after he has gone. It takes Finn, popping into the seat next to her and stealing a kiss from her to shock her back to reality; away from Gunther.

"Anything interesting happen at auditions?" He asks.

"No," Rae answers, as calmly as possible.

She tells herself that Gunther doesn't matter. She has the boy that all the girls want and he wants her back, to hell with all of "those girls". She knows Gunther doesn't matter and his opinions certainly don't, but as her imagination kicks in overdrive, she can't help but grin. She imagines showing Gunther that she, the big girl that stage roles didn't fit, has landed this boy. And she imagines showing him, bare-assed on his front lawn, Finn buried inside of her.

Not that she'd do it, mind you, but it's still beautiful to think about.

_3._

_On the mornings I do not feel pretty,_

_while he is still asleep,_

_I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,_

_for a punchline,_

_for other girls' phone numbers._

Finn's sleeping and Rae is having a slight mental breakdown. It's only slight, so she doesn't see any point in rousing him. It's early, after all, only about five in the morning. _And_ it's Saturday, of all things! They're meeting the gang for breakfast, but that's not going to be until ten-thirty, at the absolute earliest. Thinking of the gang just makes her feel worse right now, though, because the gang leads her to Chloe, who is one of _those_ girls, and Izzy, though incredibly sweet and not quite as dynamic as Chloe, is still passionate and beautiful and all of the things Rae wishes she could be. Rae would give anything to be one of those girls because, although she wishes otherwise, Gunther's comments are still digging into her.

And if she's not even good enough for the stage, what on earth would make her think that she's good enough for Finn?

She's not. She's known from the very beginning that she's not. And though she promised that she's not going to run anymore; that she's not going to hide from herself or from him because she knows they love each other, it's so hard to stop these feelings of self-hate, especially when they live so strongly beneath her. And so, she doubts. She doubts herself. She doubts Finn. She doubts _them_.

She's sitting on the floor of his bedroom, having checked all the plausible places that she thinks he could be hiding something. She feels like a shit girlfriend, a shit human being, for peeking around, and now she can do nothing but sit on the floor and wallow. She can just see the top of her head in his mirror and it brings around another bout of self-hatred. She can't even see her whole face but she can see enough to know it's all ugly. She's ugly, she's fat, and she's a shit human being. There's nothing for him to see in her.

And Rae knows that there are other girls that are certainly interested in him. Finn is one of the fittest boys; not just in Lincolnshire, but one of the fittest boys anywhere. It's not uncommon for pretty girls (_those_ girls) to come up to him and flirt, even when she's sitting right there, her hand in his. It's not uncommon to hear whispers trailing behind them as they walk, clearly a couple. She expects doubts from other people, because she knows it doesn't make any sense.

And so she sits and reaches for his jeans, because there has to be something in his pockets to prove this truth to her. There's got to be something, because Rae knows that she's not enough. She's too much in other places (like body weight) but when it comes to keeping a boy interested, especially a boy like Finn, Rae knows she doesn't measure up. So there has to be someone, on the side, keeping him occupied enough to stay with her. He must do it for the gang. Or he stays because Finn's a gentleman and he doesn't want to hurt her.

Rae doesn't need to know the reason, she just knows that one must exist.

His pockets are devoid of phone numbers; of evidence. She stands, not knowing what else to do.

It's then that he shifts, causing the mattress to creak. "An' what," Finn murmurs, sex and sleep in his voice. He talks without opening his eyes, "Do you think you're doing out of this bed?"

"Uh, bathroom," Rae lies.

"Was it a successful trip?" Finn asks.

"…Yes."

"Then get back in here woman, before I have to get up and get you myself."

Rae obeys happily, slipping between the sheets. Finn immediately reaches for her, wrapping his arm around her middle, pressing his cheek against her hair. Rae laces her fingers in his, turns her nose into his collarbone. Somehow, she fits here, even though she knows she shouldn't.

Maybe there is no evidence. Maybe there's just love.

_4._

_When we hold hands in public, _

_I wonder if he notices the looks —_

_like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;_

_if he notices that my hands are now made of rope. _

The whispers rise around them like a tide. Surely Finn must notice; surely he must hear. Rae's sure he does; she sees the tightening in his eyes, feels the way his hand squeezes hers in comfort. Sometimes, though, Finn breezes through the whispers that are talking about her, him and _them_. Sometimes, he continues to laugh and talk with her, seemingly unaware that there are people laughing, staring, and questioning. She's aware – more than aware. She's been listening to people talk about her ever since she can remember. She's always been the abnormally big girl; the abnormally weird girl. And as quiet as people try to be when they talk about her, she could always feel their words, pinpricks in her skin.

It's gotten worse. Since she and Finn have been together, the laughing, staring, and questioning. She understands why they do it. She's done it herself; still does it to this day.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, when they're in a public place and he's holding her hand, and they're talking about her. They're talking about them as a couple, and their words all blend together in one painful blur. _"TooFatForHim;UglyGirlPrettyBoy;WhatDoesHeSee;SheCantBeWorthIt;Why;Why;Why"._

She tries to ignore them. She holds his hand tightly, anchors him to her, so that he cannot drift away on the tide of the words.

_5._

_Dear Cosmo: Fuck you._

_I will not take sex tips from you_

_on how to please a man you think I do not deserve._

Rae is sitting on the floor, leaning against Chloe's bed. Izzy is next to her on the floor, while Chloe is lying on her stomach on the bed, leaning between the two girls. They're flipping through gossip mags and such, mostly at Izzy's request, although Chloe would never turn down an opportunity to discuss all things girl, boy, and sex related.

"So, Chop thinks you're a bad blow?" Chloe clarifies, handing a magazine to Rae.

The model on the cover is stick thin; her bikini is tacky, but she still looks stunning in it. She has no rolls of fat, no sag to her flesh. Her toes are pointed on the words **"SKINNY SEXY SUMMER: **_**LOOK GOOD FOR YOUR MAN THIS SEASON"**_**. **She's surrounded by captions, talking about how to be thin, how to make boys fall in love with you, about how to have sex with those boys using your new skinny body. Rae doesn't know what to think of it all. She's always been assaulted by images of toned women; beautiful women, wrapping in slogans that saying that their bodies are better than hers. She tries not to pay a lot of attention to it, knowing that it can't possibly be true that only one body can be considered the 'right' body, even though it's what most people think.

It's not the women that are getting to her now, though, it's what they say about the boys; about what the boys want.

"No, he's never said it," Izzy whines. "I just … I think I'm bad and he's just too much of a gentleman to tell me otherwise."

"What?" Rae finds herself saying. "Why wouldn't he just say so? Like, wouldn't that make this so much better?"

"Guys don't always say what they think, Rae," Chloe rolls her eyes, as though this is some fundamental knowledge that Rae should have been born with. "It's up to us girls to be the best we can be and, in return, the guys do their best to pleasure us back."

Izzy blushes.

"Oi!" Chloe exclaims. "I think I found your article, Iz!"

Magazines are passed around.

Rae looks down at the one in her hands.

Fuck it.

It doesn't make any sense, anyway.

_6._

_He tells me he loves me with the lights on._

Liam has left Rae with this odd belief that big people aren't supposed to be loved in daylight. She believes that she's meant for clothed nights with barely rustled sheets. She's to be loved in total darkness, because she's not worthy of being loved in broad daylight, like the skinny magazine women, baring their skin to the sun. There's not to be any light in her love life.

Finn has already shattered some of these beliefs, and he's done so beautifully. He slips her clothes away from her body, touches her like she's the Holy Grail, as if she's gold and he can't believe he's touching her. She delights in the way he runs his fingers across her skin, wraps his hands in her hair. She likes how he likes to be on top of her, his legs – rough and hairy – brushing against her own. She loves that position because it's so easy for her to grab his glorious arse and pull him closer, skimming her lips over his and drinking in every aspect that makes up _Finn_, because that's just so wonderful.

And when they're finished, the sheets are more than rustled. The sheets are pushed to the end of the bed; off the bed. Hell, one time Finn fell off the bed and Rae is _still_ laughing about it. (Chloe doesn't know if she should be laughing about what Finn does in the bedroom but Finn tells the story _way_ more than she does. And, in her opinion, he laughs harder about it.)

But it's always been night time. It's always been under the gaze of the moon that Finn pulls her close and their skin rubs together. It's not something that Rae should criticize, since sex is making love when it comes to Finn. It's not like he uses the darkness to cover her, either. There's lamps illuminating their skin, sometimes. He doesn't look away from her body, doesn't close his eyes to kiss her as though he's trying to distance himself from the body he's touching. He'll hover above her sometimes, his eyes on her body to the point where Rae wants to wriggle with discomfort. He isn't like other people. He doesn't stare at her because she's fat and because he thinks her size is repulsive. He stares at her because he thinks she's beautiful and his gaze almost scares her.

It's Sunday. Mum, Karim, and the baby are out for a romp (what her mother thinks a 'romp' includes, Rae isn't sure; she just likes the silence). Finn's just arrived, bouncing through her doorway.

"Hey, girl," he greets, winking at her as he flops down on the bed, his head in her lap.

"Hey, boy," Rae laughs. "What's on the docket today?"

"Chop wants to meet at the chip place, but later. He's stuck at some thing with Izzy and her parents at lunch."

"Chloe's got a date," Rae reminds him.

"Oh?" Finn raises an eyebrow. "What's this one like?"

"Older," Rae dishes. "But only by a year – or so she tells me. I think this one is a good bloke. She say she might introduce the gang to him."

"Interesting," Finn admits.

"What's Archie up to?" Rae asks.

"Oh … Ya know, he was kind of vague about what he was up to this afternoon, but between you and me, I think he's got a date too."

"Ooh," Rae gushes. "How cute."

"What's cute," Finn informs her, reaching up to play with her hair, "Is that means it's just you and me, _all_ afternoon."

"All afternoon?" Rae repeats, pulling a shocked face. "That can't be right. We'll never find anything to do, just the two of us."

"You're a tease, woman," Finn accuses.

"Me?" Rae tilts her head to the side, trying to look innocent. "Whatever could you mean?"

Finn doesn't respond. He lurches upward, crashing their lips together. His hands are reaching for the hem of her shirt and her hands are already under his. There's passion brewing from his lips, seeping into her own body. Lust fuels her as she, boldly, reaches for the button on his pants. And when they finally meet, she cries out, the sun shining against her pale skin.

"I fuckin' love ya, Rae," he breathes into her ear.

"I fuckin' love ya too, Finn," she replies.

There's light here after all.

It's him.

_7._

_I can cup his hip bone in my hand,_

_feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all._

_He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful. _

_Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves. _

Sometimes Rae thinks that she could break Finn. She listens to Chloe, Izzy, and the sex magazines talk about how being on top is so much better (it's Chloe's favourite, and Izzy shyly admits that she likes it sometimes too) and thinks about what it would look like if she tried to get on top of Finn. She can imagine what his hip bones will feel like, digging into the thick flesh of her thighs. She can imagine what it would feel like to drop her hands down to his chest, count his ribs like he'll never be able to count hers. It's all well and good, until she thinks of herself moving on top of him, and then her weight leads her to think of a broken bed and a broken Finn.

They're lying in bed, lightly discussing how they should get dressed before Finn's father returns, but neither of them are motivated enough to actually put clothes on. Besides, Rae enjoys naked Finn much more than she enjoys clothed Finn, so she'd like to keep him in his current state for as long as possible.

Rae lightly brings her fingers to his chest. She can feel the thud of his heart under the pads of her fingers, until she flattens her hand and she can feel his heart under her palm now instead. She can feel his collarbone. Her thumb is almost tickled by his armpit hair. She moves her hand slightly so that her middle finger is touching the hollow of his throat.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Finn asks, and she can feel the tickle of his voice.

"You," Rae admits.

"Well, I like the sound of that. What part of me are ya thinkin' about?"

She can hear the suggestiveness in his voice and she is tempted, so very tempted, to reply in kind or crack some joke about size of his member. Instead, the truth of what she's thinking tumbles from her lips.

"I'm thinkin' that you're beautiful."

Finn pauses, caught off guard. Finally, he looks at her and says, "Woman, you're getting me confused with you."

_8._

_The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop _

_assumes we are just friends_

_and flirts over the counter._

_I spend the next two weeks_

_mentally replacing myself with her_

_in all of our photographs._

_When I admit this to him_

_we spend the evening taking new photos together._

_He will not let me delete a single one of them._

There's this new place that the gang absolutely wants to try – and by 'gang' Rae means that it's mostly Chloe that wants to go, and as her best friends, the gang is being dragged along with her. It's a coffee shop, which Rae is surprised at. She was expecting a pub, maybe a new chip place, not a coffee shop where most of the drinks are unpronounceable (shouldn't a coffee shop serve, you know, _coffee_?). They don't fit in here; that's obvious right off the bat. Archie is passable, with a little tweaking, he could look like one of the boys populating the place. Chloe is overdressed; Rae underdressed. Finn looks to plain, while Chop is his usually self – odd and slightly out of place no matter what.

Miraculously, Izzy seems to fit.

The line is long, so Rae hopes that the dumb prices of this dumb shop are worth the dumb drink that she'll be getting out of this experience. When it's just Archie standing in front of them, waiting to order, Rae feels her heart plummet into her stomach. Standing behind the counter, grinning bright and beautiful is _Stacey._ Yes, _that_ Stacey. Stupid, pretty Stacey who kissed Finn before Rae even knew his name and who certainly did it better than she ever could.

When Archie is out of the way, Finn gestures Rae ahead, his wallet already in his hand so she knows he's going to pay. Rae stutters out her order to Stacey, who doesn't appear to be paying much attention. Instead, she's looking over Rae's (broad) shoulder to Finn, her smile growing as she recognizes him.

"And how have _you_ been?" She asks him.

"Fine," Finn answers shortly, still squinting at the menu. "You?"

It's polite conversation. Finn is being as distant as he can without being rude, but it still leaves Rae with a sour taste in her mouth, especially as Stacey is continuing, bright and bubbly. Rae notices as she crosses one arm under her breasts; a move that Chloe has often used, saying that it made her chest more noticeable and more desirable. Rae's never had to do that. Being fat means that she never has to worry about having a tiny little chest.

"I've been just _great_," Stacey begs. "You look _great_."

"Um, thanks. What's the –"

"You know, my shift is over in just a half an hour …" Stacey lets the suggestion hang.

"Great," Finn mutters, his eyes finally dropping from the menu. "You know what? I'll just get a medium hot chocolate."

"Maybe it'd be nice to catch up," Stacey mentions.

"Nah, I've got plans today," Finn brushes her off. "Maybe another time."

"_Definitely_," Stacey purrs, collecting Finn's money from him. She hands over both Rae's and Finn's drinks to Finn, something that doesn't escape Rae's notice. It's like she's not even standing there. Stacey knows that Rae and Finn are together, but she's acting like Rae doesn't even exist.

It makes Rae's blood boil, and she almost says something, throws something, at Stacey, as if to say 'I am _here_, I _exist_, and I am _his_" but she doesn't, because Finn looks at her and hands over the drink.

"Hope you like it," he says, and they head to sit with the gang, and Rae tries to forget about Stacey.

Except she can't. Even though it's almost four (four!) days later. She's bumming around Finn's house, remembering when she found the picture of him and Stacey and how much better they looked next to each other than she and Finn did. They were pretty people creating a pretty couple and while Finn swore to her that his relationship with Stacey wasn't pretty, Rae didn't know if she believed it. She fingers a picture of her and Finn – it's an old one now, but it still shows her the truth. She is ugly and Finn is not. She doesn't look right, her face next to hers.

"A drink for ya!" Finn bursts into the room, a glass in each hand. "What's that?"

"Nothin'," Rae tries to drop the picture, perhaps kick it under the couch, but Finn is quicker than she is. He shoves a glass into her other hand and then plucks the photograph from her hand.

"Oh, aren't we sweet," he gushes, and Rae can hear the sarcasm.

Another day, she likely would have been sarcastic right along with him. They weren't a mushy couple and making fun of mushy couples was a favourite past time of theirs. But today, his words just make her feel sad. Because they aren't a sweet couple and they never will be. He's the beauty and she's the beast, except she isn't cursed, just fat, and she'll never become as fit as he is.

"Hey," Finn says, and she feels his fingers under her chin, tilting her head so that she has to look at him. "What's that face for?"

"I'm not making a face," Rae denies. "This is just my face."

Finn gives her a look. "I know you better than that. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Rae mutters, and she pulls away from his hand to sit down heavily on the couch. It's not a good escape plan, because he just sits down right next to her. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," Finn insists. "Talk to me, Rae."

Rae's reluctant to, because she feels like a broken record. Half of her time she devotes to hating herself and the other half is delegated to doubting her relationship with Finn. She's tried so hard to be strong, to not be a mad person anymore, but she has to admit that she's failed horribly. She's still crazy and she can't help moments like this.

"I'm not Stacey," she finally blurts out, because she can't hide from him for long.

Finn's eyebrow quirks, and he lets out a little laugh. "I know. That's why I'm with you. Because you're Rae, and that's what I love."

She's so lucky that he's so easily able to recognize a bad moment; something that so many others would shy away from.

"But –"

"But what?"

"It doesn't make sense," Rae whispers. She brings his attention back to the picture. "It's easier to see her next to you."

Finn looks at the picture for a moment, and then he sits both it and his drink on the floor. He stands up, holding out one finger to tell her just a moment, and leaves Rae sitting on the couch. She feels slightly abandoned, even though she knows that's not fair. It isn't long before he's back, however, and he's got a Polaroid camera in his hand. Rae makes a face at the device, which Finn either doesn't see or ignores. He lowers himself back onto the couch, snuggling deep into her side. Without her consent, without giving her time to ready herself, Finn snaps a picture.

They're both quiet while they wait for the image to develop. When it does, Finn slaps the new photograph into her hand.

"See that?" He demands.

Yes. Her hair is awful and her face is worse.

She nods.

"That is the only thing that I'm able to see when I look at any picture. Just you and me. Because that's the way that it should be." Finn's eyes become pleading as he says, "I'm not any good with words, Rae. You know that. But you should also know that if I wanted to be with someone else, I would be. But I don't want to. I just want you, Rae, your crazy shit and all because you're the person that I'm in love with. No one else. Never anyone else."

Rae feels the intensity of his gaze burning into her, and she has to look away from him. She looks at the picture they just took and then she picks up the camera.

"Can we take another?" She requests, and she doesn't know if Finn's smile has ever been so bright.

_9._

_The phrase "Big girls need love too" can die in a fire._

_Fucking me does not require an asterisk._

_Loving me is not a fetish._

_Finding me beautiful is not a novelty. _

_I am not a fucking novelty._

It's crazy fucked up day, Rae concludes. Because there's no other explanation for what's happening right now.

She and Finn are sitting in the pub, waiting for the rest of the gang, who are all running behind schedule because none of them are good with timing. Rae doesn't mind. She loves spending time with her friends, but she'll never complain about a few extra moments alone with Finn. They're sitting and chatting and drinking, and that's when she notices it.

Or should she say, _him_.

Rae's never seen this man before in her life. He looks a little older than Karim, and he's skinny. Not muscular and slim like Finn but _skinny_. He's sitting just across from them at a different table and he's staring at her. Rae's used to people staring at her, usually in pity because of how wide and fat she is, their looks mixed with a little bit of gratitude because they _don't _look like she does. But this man isn't looking at her like that. His leering gaze reminds her of how men stare at Chloe on the street, when she's strutting around, looking sultry and irresistibly Chloe. The men would howl and cackle things that let Chloe know they thought of her as nothing more than a piece of meat. Sometimes Rae used to think, _at least someone is paying attention to her_, but now that someone is giving her the same sort of look, she feels her skin crawling. She doesn't want the attention if it feels like such a violation.

She's still keeping an eye on him as he finishes his drink and lurches his way to the bar. He gets another beer and, on his way back, he stops near their table.

"You're a lucky bloke, you know that?" The man drawls to Finn.

Finn turns his head, giving the man the kind of dirty look that Rae expected to see. "Excuse me?"

The man grins, and Rae feels his eyes lock onto her breasts. She resists the urge to cross her arms over her Oasis t-shirt. She wouldn't let him see that his gaze was getting under her skin, so to speak.

"It takes great talent to bag one like her," the man comments.

"_Talent?_" Finn blusters, and while Rae isn't totally sure what the man meant to by his comment, she's quite sure she's offended by it.

"The fatties," the man's voice drops to what he would call a whisper, but is still loud enough that most people can hear him, "sometimes don't like to go with the thinner blokes. I would know, I love fatties myself but sometimes it can get hard to get them to love me. Big girls, well, they need love too and I just love to be the one to give it. Big girls turn me on."

He blows a kiss in Rae's direction. Finn stands up angrily, about to knock the man out, but Rae beats him to it. She delivers a soul crushing kick to his balls, and then, before he can recover drives her fist into his cheek. She's irate. She's more than just her size! And what kind of disgusting shit creeps around looking specifically for someone with extra pounds around their middle?

The bartender rounds the side of the bar to look down at the man. He looks up at Finn and Rae and sighs. "I better not see you around here for at least a week," he says. Finn and Rae take the hint, and the compromise, and exit the pub into the street.

Finn takes her hand, slowing her down on the sidewalk. "Rae, you're not –"

All of a sudden, it doesn't matter what he's going to say. _You're not just a big girl; I don't want you just because you're big; I love you and it doesn't matter what he said._

Because all of a sudden, she can say, "I know," with confidence.

_10._

_I say, 'I am fat.'_

_He says, 'No. You are so much more',_

_and kisses me_

_hard._

She's lying next to Finn in her bed, both of them naked and sleepy after a round of satisfying sex. She's resting her head against his ribs, feeling shorter than him for once, and he's absently running his hand through her hair. They don't have anything to say, but that's okay. Rae's learning to appreciate the silence; the moments when everything quiets and they can be thinking their own thoughts but still be as close as if they were exchanging every word.

Under the sheet that covers them, Rae's poking her belly. It hasn't changed much. She's still as fat as she ever was. (Hopefully she's not as mad, but she really can't tell on that one.) But it strikes her that she thinks about her body less and less these days. Sometimes she'll wake up and look in the mirror and she'll feel the weight of the world (or the weight of her body, really) on her shoulders, pulling her down. But other times, she'll wake up and walk by the mirror, and when she catches a glimpse of herself, think _this is not a bad body._ It's still a fat body, but maybe a fat body doesn't have to be a bad body. Maybe she can like her body when it's fat, because this is the body that takes her places; this is the body that gets shit done. This is the body that, despite how others ridicule it, Finn touches like it's gold. With this body she can hug and fight; she can laugh and cry. This is her body and, sometimes, it occurs to her that she shouldn't hate it, because her body can do everything that everyone else's body can and, somehow, this makes it a beautiful body.

Finn shifts underneath of her, and she can feel his gaze on the exposed expanse of her shoulder.

"What're you lookin' at?" She asks, feeling his hand slip down from her head to tap along her collarbone.

"Oh, someone extraordinary," Finn says, and Rae can anticipate what he's going to say next. "You know, for a dickhead."

She finds comfort in the word, because it's how they define their relationship. They're both dickheads, but they're both extraordinary.

"You're a dickhead," she argues softly, twisting up so that she can see his face.

"And you're still extraordinary," he tells her, and for once, she can believe it; believe that the word can apply to her.

Still, she finds herself saying, "I'm fat."

Finn's eyes burn, but not like he's angry, like he's passionate, like he wants her, and it sets her aflame in the most delicious kind of way.

"No," Finn denies. "You are so much more."

And then he kisses her, so long and so deeply and so _perfect_, that Rae forgets everything else.

**This fic is based on the fantastic spoken word by Rachel Wiley; this fic shares the title '10 Honest Thoughts On Being Loved By A Skinny Boy' and her poem is the italicized words within the fic. **_**Please**_** go and watch her performance (it's on Youtube) as she's utterly amazing. I don't own anything recognizable.**

**~TLL~**


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